Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Ishbalan sunset. ❯ Ishbalan sunset. ( Chapter 1 )

Trembling hands stretched out, palms down for his inspection and the medic examined them with mocking care, taking time to diagnose something obvious at first glance. The arrays carved into the backs of both hands, clumsily sliced into the flesh biting through veins, were oozing greenish-yellow pus streaked with dried and fresh blood. On the inside of the left wrist was another wound, deeper than it needed to be, be coarse slash indicative of the urgency that caused it. The right forefinger was still daubed in rusty dried blood that was used to draw another array on the ground, gathering the sands up into temporary battlements when the stone walls fell.

 

The medic smirked up at the hulking form of the Strong Arm Alchemist. `You did well to bring him in so promptly, Major.' Armstrong just nodded, looking as haunted and lost as the man he'd carried back from the nightmare. It was a nightmare he hadn't expected. It was supposed to be a routine mission to meet up with a supply train. It ended up as a massacre, the arriving force trapping the Ishbalan aggressors against the desperate soldiers they'd been harrying for the past three weeks. Flame's eyes had been frightening, the eyes of a man who has slept too little and spent far too many hours day in day out killing and killing and killing. Armstrong had got to the younger man in time to catch him as he finally collapsed. He'd been shockingly light. With that round face one expected him to have some weight to him, but the body beneath the heavy wool was slender when healthy.

 

Hawkeye straightened up slowly, in an agonising movement that sent a cacophony of cracks and clicks into the desert air. Havoc wearily raised his head at the sound and grimaced. She nodded back at him, acknowledging the pathetic attempt at a smile. `Sleep or shower first?' He asked.

 

`We need the rest more.' Riza admitted. Even as a `mere' sharpshooter she'd been pushed to her limits. Mustang had been the only surviving alchemist, having watched two of his comrades die before him and it had spurred him on, working tirelessly. The two `normal' soldiers assigned to protect him had exchanged worried looks, but neither argued with the Major. Now they nearly smiled at each other, the taut strained expressions of overworked soldiers struggling to maintain themselves, but for the moment winning.

 

Roy wanted a lollipop, but the medic gave him morphine instead. Crimson Blood came over, weaving through the dead and dying and stroked his tent-partner's bandaged head, crooning softly. The words were difficult to distinguish, but gradually became clear. `My precious burning Flame, so bright and pure, scourging away the scum who oppose us.' Those and similar words were sung to a lilting circular tune the madman probably had made up that very day. Roy didn't mind. The long, elegant fingers toyed with greasy black hair and the gentle crooning helped the morphine carry him away into the darkness he so yearned for.

 

Iron Blood frowned. The loss of two State Alchemists and having a further one still being treated was unacceptable. Worst of all, the one he wouldn't have minded dying had survived together with the woman and that skinny dog he'd assigned on protection duty. He'd honestly thought the kid would finally give up after the Rockbell fiasco. He'd sworn the wretch was on the ragged edge, but no, not only did the man not top himself, but they lost another valuable alchemist on top of it. Was the guy blessed or cursed? People vanished in his stead it seemed. He was too quiet, too quick, too clever and too willing to obey orders, seemingly without question. He was after something and Iron Blood just knew that getting it would mean Flame would probably oust him.

 

Riza Hawkeye woke up of her own volition and sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. It was still early, which meant that if she hurried she could still get a hot shower and cleanse herself, to finish what the good night's sleep had done and make her feel human just for a few hours before the pain and degradation started all over again. She understood it in her gut though. She knew this wouldn't break her.

 

The stalls were quiet and she slipped in, lathering body and hair thickly, watching the stained suds drain away, taking a certain weight with them. The towel was rough on her body, apparently the military didn't believe in fabric conditioner, and she dried quickly before donning a new uniform. She caught sight of her reflection and nodded with a certain satisfaction. She passed muster, which was more that she could say for Havoc. She watched him stagger towards the men's shower unit and sighed, the day that man looked tidy was the day the army itself would self-destruct. She smiled almost fondly and headed towards the medical tent.

 

He seemed so young, sleeping on the hard camp bed like that, mouth slightly open and the bruises under his eyes making him look like one of those funny bears from Xing, pandas, she'd heard them called. She noticed that not only were his hands bandaged into unwieldy mittens, but also that bandages were visible peeking through the open shirt he wore. She frowned. Broken ribs? Well, there was little she could do about it now, but to have missed an injury her superior officer had sustained was lax. His mouth twisted downwards and his eyebrows contracted as a soft whimper left his mouth. Riza didn't hesitate in placing a gentle hand on his nearer forearm, it didn't really help, but it was the right thing to do.

 

She realised the time and hurriedly stood to go and get breakfast before they finished serving it. As she left she brushed Major Hakuro, who was entering the tent. That was strange; he rarely left the Commanders' Offices where he worked tirelessly. However she didn't have time to consider that, she needed food urgently, her stomach was gnawing.

 

`Well well. Now we see how the mighty Flame Alchemist has fallen! Follow me, Major Mustang!' He snapped, with mocking emphasis on the younger man's rank. Not all Majors were equal and he took great care to impress that upon certain people. Mustang's eyes opened slowly and those dark eyes seemed to have endless depths in the morning light. He slowly rose and tugged on his uniform jacket and boots before following the Major.

 

Kimberley's quick, observant eye took in the view and Armstrong, who'd been mistrustfully watching his less than completely stable colleague followed his eye line to Hakuro and Mustang. They both looked at each other, sharing a moment of sickness and profound gratitude that for their separate reasons neither was ambitious.

 

Havoc yawned and stretched in the sun. Until Mustang was officially fit for duty again he and Hawkeye were on light general duty, which was as good as holiday in his view. He raised his potato peeler and got back to work, humming a cheerful tune, losing himself in the monotonous task and savouring the quiet, obscenely homely sounding noises of camp life. If he'd been told a year ago that he'd be almost content, sitting in the desert, lulled by the distant sounds of gunshot and the closer sound of a brawling pair of privates in the middle of a war zone having endured a simulacrum of Hell only the day before he'd have called the teller insane. It was funny how life worked in that way.

 

This is just another step on my path! Roy told himself desperately as Hakuro roughly shoved his penis into him with only the rudest pretence of preparing him. The pressure of leaning against the desk, standing on weak legs as the not-his-superior-officer fucked him brutally caused hard-used lungs to protest. His right hand twitched convulsively, but his mind was still too fogged with morphine to actually use the array carved into his flesh. In, and backing off, only to force his way back in and so on it went until the man stiffened and exhaled heavily, before stepping back and producing a handkerchief to wipe himself off before he tucked his genitals primly away within the oh so proper blue uniform and sneered at Mustang.

 

It wasn't rape though. It was an equivalent exchange. Roy's lips quirked bitterly at that thought, fruitlessly searching for a time when that phrase hadn't been laden with self-hatred. Hakuro did not disclose certain things on official forms and Roy did not get thrown out of the Military, just for these little encounters. It wasn't as if he'd been a trembling virgin the first time this had happened and it would be worth it in the end, even though he suspected Gran put the bastard up to it to try and push him over the edge. You didn't want to put a challenge in front of Roy Mustang, because under that round boyish face with the contentedly narrow eyes was a bastard who once challenged simply would not lie down and die. He'd come close before, but his friends had helped and then he'd realised he had an enemy. Maes and the Crystal Alchemist had been invaluable and he loved Maes deeply, but Maes didn't keep him going in those long cold nights when all he could smell was cooking meat and gritty ashes. Basque Gran did.

 

Hawkeye appeared to wake slowly to the noise of her tent flap moving. `Yeah yeah Riza, save it for those fools who haven't seen you in action.' Havoc said with easy cynicism. `The boss has been given permission by the quacks to go on a light constitutional this afternoon now the drugs are wearing off. He's got that look in his eye.'

 

The look that spelt a painful doom for innocent sand. They would see a lot more ceramic being made on this light `constitutional'. `Doesn't he realise that these little walks are the reason they keep sending him back out?' Havoc grumbled. Hawkeye suspected he did, but didn't bother to inform her colleague of this.

 

Armstrong watched the little party leave and shook his head. He knew Flame wasn't stupid, so why was he setting himself up again?

 

Kimbley on the other hand smirked. `There's my pretty young one.' He breathed to himself. He made sure to get to a vantage point with a bottle of the horrific black market hooch and await the show. He didn't understand everything the pretty little wrecker did, but this was perfect logic. It was an act of defiance, a way of sticking two fingers up at the brass who sent them out again and again and also of telling them he was ready to go out again. People who were strong and hardworking got promotions.

 

Havoc sighed mournfully as Flame unwound the layers of bandages until greasy, wounded hands were exposed to the air. Riza had thoughtfully procured more of the ointment covering his wounds for after and he shrugged out of his jacket, unbending as much as he did around his subordinates. He stood like the conductor of a symphony orchestra, hands raised, fingers poised. They formed into delicate circles like the mudras yogi used in meditation and he tilted his head back, showing a rare, real smile. And the Heavens rained fire.

 

`Are you crying with sorrow or joy though, my little dark beauty?' He slurred, laughing as ear-splitting explosions rent the air, causing pain even at this distance, exuberantly providing a syncopated retort to the elegantly weaving fire, beauty and destruction and wit. Where he was a devil who inspired fear and revelled in his work, this was an angel who showed mastery of his element.

 

Hakuro looked up from his paperwork long enough to take note of the latest phenomenon and made a note on another piece of paper. Gran glowered.

 

Riza undid the jar of ointment and held it for the Flame Alchemist; never overstepping the line, even though she knew it would be much easier and quicker for her to spread the unguent onto the backs of his hands and over his left wrist. Havoc on the other hand was taking advantage of one of the left over fires to toast some sort of edible. She looked at her superior, whom she'd sworn to protect with her very life and saw the usual relief flicker deep in his eyes, even as they were almost demurely fixed on the task at hand.

 

Deep Water Alchemist and Soaring Air Alchemist staggered in, followed by a fraction of the soldiers they'd led out. Kimbley snickered, then was collared by Iron Blood and handed a red stone. `Take no soldiers. Your goal is Sector 11.' Basque Gran's expression was strange as he tucked the envelope containing Kimbley's orders into the man's shirt. Even a man as crazy and dangerous as Kimbley wasn't stupid enough to talk back to or defy that stony face. He saw other figures striding about the camp, flashes of red on the familiar blue figures telling him all her needed to know.

 

(Translated from code) `Dear Maes,

I'm sorry, but things are proving to be harder then even we could have thought. In my last letter I mentioned the new deployment tactics for the alchemists. That was two weeks ago. The alchemists still have not officially returned from their mission. One was sniped and another was dragged out by two of his colleagues in a straitjacket, but the others are still out there. They went out individually and all day and night we hear the explosions, see the lights and smoke and learn of another fallen city. Whole sectors no longer exist and no news is trickling back to us as to what is going on. I fear for the worst.

Give my best to your girlfriend.

Riza.'

 

A trail of footprints led the way between two black patches in the stone and sand. A slight irregularity in the distance between the prints and the periodical large patches hinted that the walker was not faring well. A couple of arrays were being erased by the wind and soon the desert would reclaim all the evidence, placidly surviving everything mere humans could do within and to it.

 

A large map spread over the table told the story all too gently, the attaché thought. His pencil moved over the paper with professional detachment as he marked up the latest batch of information he'd received. On the map the clinical little triangles flanked by the small insignia looked harmless, official, polite even. Then Judas had accompanied Basque Gran as an official spectator to report on the real effectiveness of the red stones. Even just thinking about it made him pale and his recent lunch threatened to make a bid for freedom. A stray line about `man's inhumanity to man' drifted across his mind before his eyes hardened, this was war. He was a soldier, it would be hypocritical to act shocked or surprised at the reality of death in his line of work, even if he hadn't wanted it to happen when he signed up, he'd been aware of this possibility. Now if only his hands would stop shaking and the dreams would go away.

 

He stood on top of a bluff and looked down, dangling his legs suicidally over the edge and peering curiously down at the few screaming, terrified Ishbalites who fled the remnants of the city. He smirked, looked down at the red flash of the stone and concentrated, feeling the power. He'd always know his limits, but now there were none. The straggler exploded with such force that the superheated air blasting out from her liquefied the lungs of the gasping saps who tried to run. `I am a God!' He screamed, throwing his head back and staring up at the wide skies, blinded by the light and heat and not caring.

 

Flame tossed the sheet of paper away, watching it get caught by the wind, then spun on his heel and glared at the thing. It ignited with barely a brush of contact between fingers and thumb to complete the circle. It was done. He'd lost his jacket somewhere, not that it mattered and he was an uneven greyish-black all over. Everything felt strange, he felt paper-thin, as if the universe abraded on his very soul, as if his being was pure energy, trembling to be let out in a glorious gout of fire. He didn't know anything but the power, the force of alchemy he breathed, lived and slept, he crackled with it. Alchemy produced the water and strange blocks of nutritionally complete but awful tasting substance that sustained his life. It was everything.

 

It was time to give the signal. He snapped his fingers, black eyes and hair glimmering as the ubiquitous smirk wound across his face. The flames appeared swathing him, dancing over his clothes and skin, the fire's radius a kilometre from his body and towering, piercing the mockingly blue skies that dared beam sunnily down at him. He obliterated it in a nightmare of orange, yellow and black. The flames roared, obscuring the sound of his giggle.

 

The flames snapped out and the only sound was the snaps and pings as the once sand, now ceramic cooled. The car pulled up and stopped. Hawkeye got out, the sand shifting beneath her military issue boots and she sighed, looking over at the smudged, sweaty figure on his knees at the centre of the ring of destruction. `Loudhailer.' Havoc slapped it into her waiting palm, giving her a confused look as he did. `It will be hours before that surface cools sufficiently for us to walk over and collect him. He can transmute the ground into something cooler.' She explained. `Sir!'

 

Hughes stood at the train station nervously awaiting the Military arrivals. At last the two troop trains arrived and a mass of rumpled, stained and generally brutalised blue uniforms were all the eye could take in. Eventually your vision got used to it and faces appeared. They were lined; limbs were bandaged, in splints or slings or missing. Even the ones who seemed physically whole had a shadowed look to their eyes. But no matter where he looked he couldn't see the one he waited for. Maes' heart lurched, why wasn't Roy there? He wasn't…. He turned to the discreetly stacked coffins being wheeled by.

 

`Captain Hughes!' He turned to see a solemn young blonde, a taller blond scruffy man trailing behind her.

 

`Hawkeye, what happened?'

 

`There was an emergency. Major Mustang was chosen to be the one to deal with it as it was felt his specialism would be the most effective.' Her eyes told a little more of the story, promising a more frank explanation away from prying ears. `He is alive.'

 

Maes Hughes was a wise man, who knew that in gathering information there were points when one had to step back and wait. He waited three whole, agonising days until Riza was normalised enough and for the monitoring to slacken to the point where they could meet somewhere without the entire Military learning of their conversation. They met at a café, then went to a museum where Gracia joined them, to the public nothing more than a happily married couple and their friend, catching up on events. Then, back at the house Maes and Riza sat in the parlour with drinks and Hughes fell silent.

 

`That war was rotten to the core. I'm sure you saw the figures for medical discharges, no matter how secret they were. They gave something to the alchemists to enhance their abilities. Then whole cities started vanishing. Only a few were selected and all but three of the selected ended their lives during or after the mission. I don't pretend to know why or what really happened, but whatever those things were….' Her eyes darkened as Riza stared into memory. `Zolf Kimbley didn't kill himself. He tried to kill everyone and thing else. They swore to work for the people and….' She shook her head and her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to regain control of herself. `Kimbley went completely insane and they decided Flame was the only surviving, sane alchemist with the strength and skill to take him down. He dismissed us; he thanked me for all my help but said we'd be in his way. Having seen what his alchemy can do even without that amplifier when he stops caring… I'm a little glad. There are two insanely powerful alchemists out in Ishbal, armed with catalysts and enough sand to produce God knows what.'

 

Hughes could feel his face going slack and his eyes hollowing. If Hawkeye was reacting like this, the strongest woman he knew and a more robust mind than most it was going to be horrendous. `God. What will return to us?' Hawkeye then realised the war had an impact beyond those who had lived through it.

 

Wings of flame spread from shoulder blades, along the outstretched arms and splayed out into huge, gorgeous orange feathers. Flame was his name now, no longer could he think of himself by his rank or old labels. The wind caressed his skin and hair, disturbing the remaining cloth of his uniform and seeming to ruffle those fiery feathers. The control alone in producing this picture was breathtaking.

 

He was tackled to the ground, sharp bones grinding into him, hands pawing over the body barely concealed at all by the rags that were all that remained of his uniform. Those paws slid easily over him; gliding over skin greased with the sun blocking oil he'd devised to prevent him from baking. Crimson grinned at him, rangy, dominant and so alive it seared Flame just to look at him. The shorter man was easily pinned and Crimson's mouth was shoved on his, sharp teeth tearing over lips so chapped they were already on the verge of disintegrating. He gasped in pain and muscle shoved its way past the defences of incisors to dominate and learn him. Their fingers clasped in a parody of strength testing and the very air crackled, Flame scorching his dominator, Crimson testing the other's defences, not quite quick enough, in spite of his practice to finish the alchemical reaction that would end this. Yet the taste of alchemy running through their bodies spiked something else.

 

A rough knee worked its way between Flame's legs and their crotches ground together as the crackling power increased, both upping the intensity of their alchemical attacks, Flame's head tilted back and he struggled to breath as Crimson's oral attack near-suffocated him, practically humping the man as he did. Crimson withdrew slightly, allowing them both to pant and something glinted in those oddly coloured predator's eyes. `I always took you for a weakling Flame with your prissy little gloves and your refusal to get your hands dirty.' His tone was oddly admiring and his hands moved lightening quick, ripping Flame's rags off him and freeing his cock.

 

He laughed as he got his first good look at the body beneath him. It seemed like he was not the only prepared one. Several arrays were carved or tattooed into the younger man's body. Then the beast within them took over. It was fortunate that Flame was both experienced in buggery and covered in oil because Crimson was not gentle in claiming him. In the moment before Crimson's dick drove into him he realised what was about to happen and relaxed as much as was possible under the circumstances. It was a surprisingly large amount given he was being shagged senseless by a psychotic mass-murderer who had until perhaps thirty seconds previously been trying to kill him. As soon as this was over Flame was going to die, he saw that in his `lover's eyes.

 

He yelled every time the man thrust into him, fucking him like he was trying to screw him into utter defeat. Crimson's only sounds were ragged pants and the occasional animalian growl. Flame's mind was working desperately and one hand snaked out to his side, scrawling shakily the array no one knew about. He touched fingertips together and let the energy flow, grabbing his creation and stabbing Crimson with it even as the other man laid hands on him to turn him into yet another human bomb. Fortunately the tranquilliser worked quicker than Crimson's obstructed alchemy.

 

Shakily, Flame scrawled another array in the sand and clapped, producing a set of handcuffs with a bar rather than a chain between the cuffs. It was fortunate that Kimbley had never learned the control to work his alchemy with only the tiny circle of finger and thumb as activation. Then he remade his destroyed uniform and sent up the signal. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that when the red stone was taken off him this would hit him, and yet the stone's power both exhilarated and sickened him. He just wanted this whole thing done with.

 

The Sergeant who picked them up didn't comment about Flame's limp.

 

Gran held his hand out and Flame gulped. Steeling himself for a moment he yanked the ring off his middle finger and dropped it into the huge officer's hand, feeling sick and empty the instant it left his touch. `Dismissed, soldier. Your train leaves in ten minutes.'

 

The doorbell rang and Gracia hustled over to answer it, wondering who it could be. Her mouth fell open when she saw who it was. `Roy! What are you doing here?' No reply, just the empty stare from bruised eyes.

 

Riza stopped as she walked along the street and turned to check what she'd seen out of the corner of her eye was real. It was. Her boots clattered over stone as she ran up the path to the Hughes house. He turned at the noise. `Hawkeye.'

 

`Hello Sir.' They stood there, Gracia pleading with her eyes for Riza to come in and help her coax the highly-strung man in with her. She nodded gravely and stepped over the threshold. At once she had an idea. `You coming in then Flame?'

 

He followed meekly as a lamb. Gracia and Riza were both curious, but waited, not bombarding him with questions. He looked shell-shocked, whether from battle or from the simple fact that he'd been alone for the past two or three months on those damnable missions was unclear. They sat with tea in the parlour where Maes had entertained him so often before. He stared into his tea for a long time, watching it cool before sipping tentatively, eyes widening in shock at the taste, as if sampling the drink for the first time. `I lost my key. It got destroyed back there.'

 

`I believe Maes had a spare copy of his key made up for you just in case of something like this happening. Would you like to rest until he comes home?' Gracia's gentle understanding voice lulled over the ears of both soldiers and the man nodded timorously. `In that case we'll leave you here. You look tired dear. Try and rest for a while.' She gestured him over to the sofa and spread a blanket over his legs. He looked up at her, completely lost and then nodded.

 

It was odd how now the man he had fretted about so much and had been so desperate to see even for just second was home Maes was stood here in the hallway trying to work up his courage to open the door and go in to see him. At last he inhaled, grasped the doorknob and walked in carefully, desperate not to trigger battle-honed reflexes. He was still wearing his gloves Maes noticed. `Hello Roy.'

 

`He….' He stopped, and then coughed. `Hello Maes. I can't get into my flat.' The little used voice was timid, confused.

 

`Here's your key. Shall we go there together?' He asked, keeping his voice low and soothing, as if he were speaking to an abused child or animal. He got a nod in response and Roy stood, shedding the blanket and revealing a battered uniform still heavy with Ishbalite sand. Even the watch was still there and Maes knew Roy had hated the formality of wearing it. He must have got out of a formal meeting with his superior, onto a train and then straight here.

 

Maes collapsed into his chair wondering whether his best friend would even have an apartment by the next morning. It was a pity Riza had been reassigned and was moving out the next day. She would have been a great help and the others she'd mentioned Roy showing any real link with were either dead, away or on the inactive register.

 

Lying in the dark naked under his sheets but for the ever-present gloves it finally hit him. He was a monster. No. He was worse than that. He was no longer human, he'd willingly relinquished it, becoming nothing more than an eager slave, murdering friend and foe, innocent and guilty with gun and alchemy. What for? Whatever plan he'd had before had faded to insignificance in the enormity of the slaughter, stripped by the power that had flowed through him. He'd done it all for nothing and his only real enemy had profited from it, thanks to his disgusting actions. He had chosen to do those things. Others had turned down tasks allotted to them or flat out refused. Armstrong had done that and been shipped home as insane, stripped of his honour for doing the right thing.

 

His service pistol was looking very tempting at this moment in time. He removed his gloves, snorting disgustedly at the way his murderous alchemy had literally become part of his flesh thanks to those fucking arrays carved into his own body, mutilating himself in the name of ambition. The metal was cool on his overheated pale flesh as he cocked the weapon and clicked the safety off. The barrel fitted so comfortably under his chin as if it was finally coming to its real home and his finger fitted comfortably under the trigger-guard and his hand slowly tensed, the rest of him relaxing as he squeezed the trigger only for nothing to happen. The magazine was empty. He scrambled desperately around the flat searching for the bullets before he realised. Hughes must have come here before he arrived back at his own house. He collapsed.

 

Hughes sighed and stood in the doorway for a long moment debating what to do. Roy didn't need people seeing him in this state, but just as surely he needed reminding that he was human and that there were people who cared about him. He sighed and stepped inside. He scooped his friend up with infinitesimal care, being stronger than he looked and picking up a fairly light person. He dressed Roy in a t-shirt and drawstring pyjama bottoms that were easy to work the somnolent man's limbs into. He rolled his sleeves up and left an hour or so later, having prepared some breakfast rolls and tidied the place up a bit, reducing the atmosphere of depression within the small place.

 

`Brooding again Roy?' Maes waltzed in with flowers and a few other marks of elegant living in a paper bag and proceeded to don an apron and act like a housewife, sprucing the place up and talking non-stop about his beautiful girlfriend.

 

At last it hit Roy, there was a way to make this better and claw back his humanity. All he had to do was to atone and try to right at least one of the wrongs. But first he had a few things to get hold of.

 

Maes blinked and paused, no, his eyes weren't deceiving him; Roy was really out of that cramped flat and dressed. Admittedly he was walking around in late summer wearing his greatcoat, but he had just come back from a very hot place, so he was bound to feel the cold. He followed the man, taking care not to be detected and discovered he was buying alchemical texts. That was good; he was starting to show interest in the thing that had consumed him for as long as Maes had known him.

 

Roy was scared, shaky and not sure as to his real feelings on alchemy, but the guilt eating him up spurred him on and the booze the local shop sold allowed him some rest to keep him from falling ill. Everything fell away as more and darker things were absorbed into his overloaded mind and the familiar obsessive side of his personality took over. He would make things right, even if it killed him.

 

Maes was worried again. Since that brief period a couple of months back when Roy had been a regular sight out and about in town looking through the various bookshops, libraries and alchemical suppliers he'd heard less and less from his friend. Roy had been getting less and less communicative on the telephone, grunting something about work he needed to finish. At the very least he needed to remind Roy not to overdo it before he put himself in hospital again. It was embarrassing having to take a Military trainee to hospital because he'd forgotten he needed food and sleep.

 

The first meeting was strange. Roy was distracted, there were books and notes everywhere and it was clear that he was both drinking and neglecting himself. Maes had stood over him until he'd eaten and then sent him to bed. The second visit he'd done the same. On the third he noticed an awful lot of arrays all over the place, most on sheets of paper in pen or pencil, but a few on the floor and walls in what looked like red paint. He'd slipped a couple of the sheets of paper from the waste paper basket into his pocket to get another alchemist he knew to take a look at. Something about them hit that gut instinct of his that was never wrong and the feeling they gave him was one of danger.

 

Unfortunately, he was then sent away on intelligence work for over a month before he could do anything about it. When he got home he rested and then Gracia baked an apple pie for Roy, suggesting that he should visit his friend. Maes stopped off at the hospital on the way there and made his way to the correct ward by habit. `Alex, can I ask you a favour?'

 

`Of course my friend! You have done so much for me I must help you however I can. My noble blood and family tradition of chivalric manners would not have it any other way.'

 

Maes slid the crumpled sheets over the table and Alex picked them up, casting a practiced glance over them. Despite his flamboyant gesturing and his prattlings about the family's noble aesthetic way Armstrong was a competent alchemist and the sort of diligent man to make sure he was grounded in as much of his field as possible so as to understand his talent more fully. His reaction was not good. He paled and crumpled the notes. `Get rid of them as soon as possible. I don't want to know where or whom you got notes on human transmutation from but stop it. Take whatever measure you have to before this person kills themselves.' He shredded the papers fitfully. `This is a banned branch of alchemy for a reason. No one has succeeded at it, only making monsters that died shortly after and losing their lives, limbs or souls to it.'

 

`That idiot! He said he wasn't suicidal!' Maes clasped Alex' hand in gratitude and took off at a dead run, dashing through the streets and bursting through Roy's door just in time to punch him. `No!'

 

Roy looked up at Maes from where he'd been wrestled to the ground and blinked. `Don't throw your life away out of guilt. You can't succeed at this and I won't let you die.'

 

`Maes… what can I do?' Something shifted in his eyes and Maes hurriedly got up, looking away for a moment to allow his friend to gather himself.

 

`You have to decide that for yourself.' He stayed looking away, feeling the intensity of his friend's thoughts. A noise made him turn around and the Roy he knew was back. Thinner, frailer and wiser in a hard-won, painful way, but something was still there and Maes felt faint with gladness.

 

`I know what to do. I'm going to be Fuhrer Maes.' The light in Roy's eyes was back and although he hadn't a true plan yet the active mind was ticking over already. `I'm not going to let this happen again if I can help it.'

 

Maes bustled about the sordid kitchen finding plates and cutlery that hadn't fallen victim to Roy's studies and serving up the apple pie. `In that case I'll work below you, pushing you up and supporting you. You'll need good people on your side to succeed.'

 

Roy had another enemy, another goal and staff on his side. He still suffered the results of his war, as anyone fool enough to call him `hero' who wasn't important enough to matter to his plans discovered, and the arrogant child who'd left Central had turned into an occasionally depressive man, but he was still alive, still striving and still human.

 

 

Author's notes - I have taken some liberties with both ranks and the canon. Thing's that were either unclear or not mentioned I have used my own imagination and fanon to fill the gaps. Some of my reasoning may be flawed and I do not pretend to know every nuance of FMA, having only watched it through once, but I have done my best to make the story work.

 

The finger thing - since alchemy works through circles and Roy's finger clicking in the anime fulfils this I took the idea a bit further. Since in the anime Kimbley is only restrained from clapping I assumed he has not learned other techniques of activating his alchemy other than clapping.

 

The fire arrays on Roy's hands - scar tissue can invisible within a few years so it is feasible that this happened during the civil war and that the arrays healed up as the scar tissue faded. Although his gloves are made of ignition cloth that's simply a shortcut. Since Roy alters the molecular structure of the air in his alchemy it would be entirely possible for him to cause things to spontaneously combust simply by vibrating the air's component atoms to make them superheat and providing fuel for the reaction. It would just take more concentration and power, which under the influence of the imperfect Philosopher's Stones would not be a problem and the desperation he is in at the beginning if there was no flame around would probably make it possible.